Breakdown

Yesterday I sold my travel bike. Finally.

It definitely took a while. Five months, to be exact. It has never taken me so long to sell a bike.

There was a time when a 26-inch wheeled single speed with S&S Couplers would have been a hot commodity, but those days have passed. We are also dealing with unprecedented issues with the economy and consumer confidence that have slowed the sales of nearly everything.

It took a number if iterations and price reductions to finally get the job done. When I first put it up for sale in May, it looked like this:

This saddle height is about 3-4 inches lower than I rode with.

New tubeless wheels and tires, a little titanium, colorful anodized parts. It looked good, but there was little interest.

Then I thought maybe the world wanted gears, so I put an XT 11-speed drivetrain on it. I sold the wheels separately and lowered the price with the old wheels. No dice.

Then I dumbed down the parts even further, again as a single speed.

Finally at $500 I made the sale.

There was a mix of relief and sadness as the new owner rode away. I have owned many, many bikes. I have sold many, many bikes. This bike was definitely special. Looking back, it was a lot of fun to plan and execute this bike for a specific purpose.

I first conceived the plot to ride bikes in Cozumel 12 years ago, a time when I was much younger and had fewer issues with my body, specifically my neck. Riding something like this with the bars so far below the saddle was no big deal.

This is how high I actually needed the saddle.

I was young and strong.

But these days riding around hunched over on a tiny 26-inch bike isn't appealing. I tried a number of different bar and stem combinations, but finding something high and comfortable that would still fit in the very tight travel case was nearly impossible. With rise comes size, and there simply wasn't room for it.

An upright position that provides neck relief is the main reason I started riding Jones bikes. My bars on the Jones are now are almost a foot higher than the travel bike.

We will always have the pictures and the memories. Of course, we would love to do it again, but we aren't getting any younger. Even back then, 41 miles in the heat and extreme humidity was tough.

With any luck we will find another option that allows us to explore the world on bikes again that is more convenient and comfortable.

Later.

Status: It's Complicated

I kind of decided as I approach 53 years of age that I am likely no longer a single speeder. I haven't had the urge to explore the pain cave that is single speeding in a couple years now.

I had been holding on to my DT Swiss 240S wheels for a while just in case, but it was time to let them go. I put them on the Kona Unit and it sold pretty quickly.

It feels pretty weird. I have been riding a single speed since 2001 when I bought a Surly 1x1. Since then I have owned many different single speeds. I mean, my user name on a number of platforms is "SS29er." I guess I should change it now? Nah. I'll keep my options open just in case. SS29er lives on. For now.

Later.

A Tale of Two Poachings

Sometimes you just have to poach.

For those of you unfamiliar with the term as it applies to mountain biking, it's the act of riding on trails that are deemed off-limits to bicycles. Yes, it's illegal. No, it's not very responsible. Yes, it makes all mountain bikers look bad. Yes, it could threaten the access we currently have. I've heard all the arguments, and yet I still poach. So why do I do it?

The main reason for poaching is pretty simple: Convenience. Time is in short supply these days. Most every trail close to my home is illegal to ride on, so when I only have a couple hours to spare, it's poaching time. Terrible excuse, sure, but convenience is only part of a complex equation.

Most of these trails see little use by the vocal minority, i.e., the hikers and equestrians. I rarely see a horse on a ride, whereas I see many, many mountain bikers. Seem fair? It doesn't to me. But life itself is not fair, and I accept that, so fairness is only part of the problem.

I don't think I have ever traveled anywhere outside of my home region and ignored a "no bikes" sign. I don't go to Marin County, for instance, and poach a trail. The people who live and ride there have their own land access battles to fight, big ones, and they don't need outsiders screwing things up. In general, I am honest to a fault, and I obey the rules handed down to me. I use my turn signal while driving, return shopping carts to the corral in pouring rain, never run with scissor and sit up straight at the dinner table. Hell, I've never had a speeding ticket.

Which brings us back to my local trails. Over 30 years ago, my friends and I graduated from BMX bikes to the then-new mountain bikes. We left jumps, berms and 45-second BMX races behind and embraced singletrack and grueling multi-hour races. We began riding the horse trails around our two local lakes, and having a blast. We had miles and miles of it at our disposal, more than we could ride in a weekend. We saw the occasional horse, and it was no big deal. But within a few short years, the all-too-familiar circle-slash signs went up. To my knowledge, there was no discussion or public forum, no debate. Just a knee-jerk reaction to complaints from horse owners. Case closed, never to be opened again.

For people who came to the dance late, they see a "no bikes" sign and shrug their shoulders. They never knew any differently. Those who were there in the beginning feel that something was taken away from them. For me, today, it is this: The Good Old Days.

For many years I obeyed those signs, obeyed the law. I rode the boring, short, multi-use trails and looked longingly at the fun stuff across the lake. I drove for an hour or more to do legal rides. Finally, I really lost my way. I rode a damn road bike. The horror.

Then one day you reach a point where you start yearning for those Good Old Days. You're spinning along on the paved bike path, and you think, "What if I slip down Shady Trail, just this once?" Nobody is around, it's near dusk, and you go for it. And it's as good as you remembered it. Better even. At that point it is all over. You are a poacher.

So before you point toward me, perched high upon your horse (or worse, your bike), calling me the problem, know this: I am just a guy, a tax-paying guy with a job and a family and a mortgage and a yard. I'm just stealing little pieces of my past, little pieces of the miles and miles of enjoyment stolen from me, little pieces of The Good Old Days.

Most of the time, when you choose to poach, things turn out just fine . . .

Back in my racing days, we had a team single speed ride on Tuesdays starting at the fish hatchery. We were a competitive bunch, so the pace was fast and painful and often dangerous to others. Many of the trails we used were not especially legal. This combination could, on rare occasions, lead to problems.

One day I showed up for the ride after a long absence. I had raced with the Rio Strada team for seven years, but my participation had tailed off greatly due to a number of outside factors. I pulled into the parking lot apprehensive about my ability to keep up after the layoff.

The 3:00 start time came and went, and only Curtis and I were there. This left me feeling a bit uneasy, as Curtis was coming off a fine cyclocross season which saw him place 11th overall in the Master A class. I, on the other hand, was finishing up a fine season of, well, absolutely nothing. I was hoping for a little pack fodder to hide among.

For the first time in eight years, I raced not a single time all season—not a criterium, road race, nor a mountain bike or cyclocross event. Without any racing under my belt that year, and nearly all of my riding being done solo, I again questioning my fitness as we saddled up. I told Curtis, "Take it easy on me, Racer-Boy."

Whereas I usually start out my single speed rides with some spinning on the flat, somewhat boring (but legal) multi-use trail on the south side of the lake, the team ride jumps right into the illegal stuff by traversing the cliff near the dam. This is the toughest climb of the entire ride, steep and rocky and loose, and it's right out of the parking lot. Curtis flew up it, his spinning tire spitting rocks backwards into my spokes. I barely hung on, thinking this was going to make for a long day.

As we descended down the backside, I easily caught up. Coming from a road racing background, Curtis simply isn't the descender I am.

The next few hills yielded the same result: Getting killed going up, catching back on going down. We were really flying, and I was very uncomfortable with the ungodly pace. It hurt. I tasted copper and lunch was lurking right behind my tongue.

On the next hill I went around Curtis and gave it everything I had to crest the top first. On the descent, a long winding one, I really let it go and put some time into him. This worked well, and was to be my strategy for the remainder of the ride. Using the gap, on the next climb I was able to climb comfortably at my own pace. And so on.

The trails were completely empty except for a couple other riders near Beal's Point. Curtis asked them if they knew they were riding on illegal trails. They didn't get the joke, but Curtis and I laughed anyway. Nope, no runners, hikers, horses or dogs. It was nice. A great afternoon for poaching. No harm, no foul.

On the way back I started getting my legs, bringing the hammer down on the climbs, descents and everything in-between. I was hurting Curtis a little bit, and it felt good. He said, "Take it easy on you? Take it easy on ME!" I felt a bit more confident that I could still ride with these guys who raced all year.

Sometimes, when you poach, things go terribly, terribly wrong . . .

The scheduled Sunday ride was supposed to be in Georgetown. Scanning the dead and dying bikes strewn across the garage, I decided that I didn't have a running machine up for the task. Georgetown is rough—trails maintained by motorcycles, basically. A rigid single speed and a cyclocross rig were the only living soldiers; neither was going to cut it.

I woke up on Sunday morning and saw an e-mail from Dave. It said the ride had been changed to El Dorado Hills due to the freezing temperatures that would make Georgetown miserable. Sweet, I'm in.

I scrambled to change the gearing on my 29er single speed to accommodate the ride at Brown's Ravine, a trail I've poached maybe three times in 15 years. I grabbed some food, changed clothes, and flew down to the pizza place where we park.

Due to the cold, the group was small. It ends up being me, Craig Peterson and a tatted up dude named Robert on single speeds, with Dave opting for his old Merlin geared bike. We took off and it was a little cold, but nothing like the temperatures we would have dealt with up in Georgetown.

Everyone agreed to a slow warm-up, but almost immediately Craig P. broke the truce and put the hammer down. I jumped on his wheel. Craig is a strong rider, but I was pretty much sitting in comfortably. Even so, we put a big gap on Dave and Robert, who actually stuck with the warm-up plan.

The trail was in prime condition from the rain on Friday, and we railed through the turns with seemingly endless traction. We regrouped at a crossroad, and Robert took the lead followed by Craig, Dave and me. We were going through a long series of downhill left turns followed by gradual uphill right-hand bends, over and over. So fun. Robert bobbled on one of the short, steep climbs, and Craig passed him. This would prove to be our undoing.

We continued in this order for a couple miles. I was actually spinning along very comfortably in back, enjoying the ride for the sake of riding. Sometimes it's nice to just cruise along with a slower group and not feel like puking.

Suddenly I came around a corner to catch the beginning of a discussion that was quickly escalating to an argument between Craig and an equestrian. She was in her early sixties, I'd say, with three dogs in tow. Craig had moved off the trail, to the downhill side, and issued a good morning. What he received in exchange was not quite as pleasant. Within moments there was a cussing and pissing contest involving who had been riding the trail longer, who did more for it, and who was more wrong—us for riding the trail or her for letting three dogs run wild. Since Craig lives right up the road, he rides the trail often, and claims to clear poison oak every spring, fix washouts, etc. She admitted to never doing any trail maintenance, giving Craig more ammunition against her, but this only pissed her off more.

The argument lasted for some time, and the old woman was really dishing out the profanity. Craig and Robert responded in kind, and quite frankly it was embarrassing to witness. Robert finally had enough and continued on. Craig finally did the same and issued one last "fuck you" as he rode away. Well, this riled her up again and she took that damn horse right down a steep ravine and up to the trail again, cutting Craig off. She positioned her horse right in front of him and said, "I could crush you right now and nobody would care because you're illegal."

Craig said, "Yeah, well I could shoot your fucking dogs because they're off a leash."

More arguing, more cussing. We tentatively went around her and tried to ride again. This time she decided to chase us while trying to call someone on her cell phone. Unfortunately, I was at the back and the fucking horse was running right up my ass. It was scary. I could actually feel the ground shaking beneath me and feel the horse's breath on my neck. I couldn't believe how fast she was riding that horse on the narrow trail.

After a couple minutes of this, I'd had enough. I was getting mad. What the fuck did I do to her? I hadn't uttered a word to this point. I started to brake and hoped she wasn't serious about stomping on someone. Thankfully, the horse did stop. I tried to talk to her, tell her this wasn't really a constructive way to spend a morning, but it didn't work. She only had eyes for Craig, and rode around me in the weeds, taking off in pursuit. I took off after her.

Riding behind her, I saw her feeble attempts to get a cell phone signal out there. Finally, as we neared the road, she registered a signal and stopped the horse. I blazed by. I knew I had to get back to the guys to warn them about the call she was about to make. Not a half mile later, I was descending down to the creek that runs under Salmon Falls Road, when I saw a ranger getting out of a truck. He told Craig and Dave to stop. Robert was nowhere to be seen. As I pulled up, the ranger, who looked like he was rousted from bed, asked, "What's this about you brandishing a gun, son?" Craig, who is normally pretty quiet and laid back, went off. You could almost hear the capillaries bursting in his eyes.

At this point Dave jumped off his bike and pulled Craig away, while I slipped in to diffuse the situation. Although the lady told him that shots were actually fired, I explained exactly what happened. The Ranger nodded knowingly, like this lady was a constant pain in his ass. Or maybe he was humoring me because he thought we did have a gun. I wasn't sure. Still, he clearly intended on giving us citations and we knew it. I think the fine was $500 back then.

Craig said OK, have a nice day, and started RIDING AWAY. The look on the ranger's face was priceless. He couldn't believe it, and he stood there frozen. Then Dave said the most brilliant thing: "Let's just ride back to Falcon Crest, get in the car, and go home."

Well, we were actually parked on the opposite end of the trail in El Dorado Hills. Dave and I slowly rode away and Ranger Rick didn't immediately come after us. However, I did see his radio come out.

Once out of sight, we regrouped with Craig. We agreed to ride up to a point where we could jump off the trail before Falcon Crest, where the posse was surely assembling, and come back on the road.

So we were riding along, and out of nowhere the psycho horse lady came flying in again. It was like something out of a bad Western movie. She was pretty mad that we kept getting away. She said, "If the fucking rangers won't do anything, I will!" She then started snapping limbs off of trees and throwing them at us. The situation had reached the point where all we could do was laugh.

We took off again in a hail of tree branches and put some distance between us. If she stayed within sight of us, it would make positively identifying the "shooter" very easy. Without her, we were just three guys poaching a trail. The terrain was flat and fast, and the horse couldn't keep up as well as in the tight woods. Craig suddenly took a hard left and went right off the trail and over the embankment towards the lake, diving behind a bush. I looked back and realized that she didn't see him bail. I let Dave ride for about a quarter mile before I whistled at him to pull over. She stopped briefly to ask us if we give up yet, and I said, "Nope, just stopping for lunch." She looked up the trail and headed out in pursuit of Craig, who was now actually behind her.

Dave and I sat there for a few minutes and shot the shit. All of the sudden, a new ranger on a horse appeared from the direction the lady just went. Dave and I quickly turned around and high-tailed it. We were hauling ass and the ranger was losing ground. He pulled his radio out, so he was probably calling ahead. We were getting boxed in.

I told Dave to hit it hard and look for a place to bail. After about a half-mile, we came to a faint cross-trail. We headed uphill and it became too steep to ride. We ran up the hill cyclocross style to who-knows-where. We ran under a line of trees and shrubs, and came to a barbed-wire fence. We ran along it for a while until we saw a break in it. We ran through and found ourselves on someone's ranch. We rode on a dirt road until we hit an asphalt road, which we took towards where we thought Salmon Falls Road might be. It ended up being a gated community, and we rode through it to a chorus of dogs barking; it was like they knew we were on the run. Residents looked at us like we were already in orange county jail jumpsuits. We found the gate and of course it's closed. And of course it's six feet tall with spikes on it. I carefully hopped over. Dave handed me the bikes and followed. An old lady watched us from her garage and pulled a cell phone from her robe.

Dave and I rode for a while on the road until we saw the Deputy Sheriff cruising slowly behind us. Luckily he was combing the woods to his right, so he didn't see us yet. I ducked down a dirt driveway and Dave followed. We hid behind some bushes and thankfully he drove right past us. We then decided that we preferred park rangers over El Dorado County Sheriff's Deputies, so we rode up to a trailhead and continued back on the trail where the first ranger stopped us. Screw it, we weren't going to miss the best part of the ride.

The last few miles were uneventful, and we didn't encounter a soul. Knowing we likely escaped a fine, arrest or being stomped to death made the curving ribbons of trail that much sweeter.

When we arrived back at the cars, Craig was there and Robert had just pulled in. Rob had ridden non-stop and went all the way through Falcon Crest to do the Sweetwater Trail before riding back on the road—a nice ride. He never saw a soul or knew of the chaos we were dealing with.

It was a wild day and I probably left out some details. One thing I do know is Brown's Ravine is one of the best single speed trails in the region. I had forgotten how great it is.

Sometimes you just have to poach.

Waltless

I decided to fill in some of the blanks from the last few months. Back in July I sold the old orange Waltworks.

The bike had pretty much outlived its usefulness to me. As I have mentioned previously, the steep angles and short fork made it a bike better made for someone else. I loaded it up with a bunch of parts I didn't want anymore, going with a silver theme where I could.

I pulled an old XT hub out of the archives and laced it to a new Salsa rim I had hanging in the garage.

I cleaned it really well and took some good pictures.

After a couple days on Craigslist an older guy bought it. He uses it as his pub crawler and he still sends me pictures of it parked in front of bars. Whatever.

For the first time since about 2004, I do not have a Waltworks. Hmmm, I wonder how long his waitlist is?

Later.

Compromise

I finally finished building the Monocog. After a couple rides I have decided it's a keeper. You know, until I decide it's not.

There are a few parts, both new and old, worth talking about.

I really like the Salsa Rustler bars. The 11-degree bend is much nicer that the typical eight or nine degrees of other bars. The 29.5" width is about perfect for single speeding.

Up front is a Maxxis Ikon mounted tubeless at 20 PSI. Great volume, fast rolling, supple casing and good traction. My new favorite tire.

The frame utilizes a 26.8mm seatpost. Although I owned a Monocog before, I had forgotten about the weird size. I dug around in the archives and found this old Suntour XC post.

I originally bought the post when I built up my Ibis in 1986. It also ended up on my Fisher Procaliber and Bridgestone MB1.

Old Race Face square taper cranks. I swore I would never use square taper cranks again, but it's all I had. They work fine, and so far no creaking or clicking.

I took it out on a 31-mile ride yesterday and had a great time. Conditions were perfect for going fast, the damp soil providing seemingly limitless traction.

Water on the rise.

This bike beats the Waltworks in almost every way except for climbing. I'm never going to like climbing out of the saddle with a suspension fork, but at this point I feel it's a necessary compromise. My wrist (and old body in general) can't take the pounding of a rigid fork anymore.

The upside is once you crest a climb, the fun starts. Even a mere 80mm of travel from a 10-year-old Reba makes a huge difference. It's smoother, faster and cornering traction is better because your front wheel isn't bouncing around.

It sure is nice to see water in the lake again.

I'm now left wondering what to do with the Waltworks. On the one hand, it will fit my son in a couple years. On the other hand, it's outdated and limited by the very short fork; it will always be a rigid bike. Time will tell, I guess.

Later.

Single Life

Today I took the newly reconfigured Waltworks out for a two-hour ride. I was a little apprehensive because I haven't been on a single speed in quite some time. Would I be fit enough? Single speeding isn't very enjoyable when you're walking up hills.

I needn't have worried about my fitness. Unlike my 42-mile ride on Friday, which I struggled to finish, I actually rode really well today. I was shocked at just how good I felt. Maybe all the riding lately is paying off.

The bike has completely changed with the new 38mm riser bar. Both the rider position and the handling felt great. The 30-inch wide bars slowed the steering down a bit, but the bike may have been a bit too quick before. As I have mentioned previously, the bike has a 72-degree head angle, which is pretty steep. I felt comfortable enough with the new handling to blow by a guy riding a full suspension bike on a downhill. That was pretty satisfying.

I noticed something interesting after riding a few downhills on this bike. It was the smoothest ride of any bike I have been on lately, yet it has narrow tires compared to the Niner and Krampus. So what's the deal?

I suspect the quality of the tubing is the main difference. The Waltworks frame and fork are made from True Temper OX Platinum and are designed specifically for my weight. The result is the kind of ride quality you hope for when you fork out the dough for a custom ride. It's also the lightest bike I own by far. It seems like a light bike moves more freely underneath you, isn't as jolting when you hit a bump.

The Krampus is made of a generic 4130 chromoly tubing, and the frameset has to be designed for anyone who might buy it, which might mean a 300-pound dude. It's simply not going to have the same ride quality as my custom bike, even with plus size tires. And it's a tank.

The Niner is aluminum, so it is stiffer than a steel frame by default. That said, it rides pretty well. Aluminum bikes have come a long way.

In the end there is obviously more to making a rigid bike ride well than just cramming fat tires in it. If that were the case, the Krampus would ride like a Cadillac.

Anyway, I had a great time on the single speed and I can't wait to ride it again soon.

Later.

Last Try

After making my mind up to unload the Waltworks, I just couldn't sell it without trying one last time to make it work. First I tried a 3/4" riser bar. Even riding around on the driveway I could tell the position still wasn't right.

To the Internet!

I found a pair of Deity 38mm risers (1.5") with a 9.5 degree bend. They sounded perfect for single speeding. After they arrived, I paired them with a 90mm stem and the bike has passed the driveway test. It feels pretty good.

Maybe I'll take it out tomorrow to see how it feels on the trails.

Later.

Mono

Earlier this year I took the orange Waltworks single speed out for a ride. The old geometry, short fork and flat bars just weren't working for me anymore. I decided after that ride to sell it, but never pulled the trigger.

I did, however, sell the blue Waltworks in August due to the very poor rear tire clearance. So I was really without a single speed when the urge to ride one hit me a couple weeks ago.

To the Internet!

After scouring Craigslist and eBay for a cheap, suitable frame, I found this Monocog for a hundred bucks:

It's the same frame I had for a while some years back when I broke my wrist. The heavy beast did the job until I was ready to ride with a rigid fork again. I even raced it once.

Now I have one again. I have an old straight-steerer Reba for it and probably enough parts in the inventory to get it running.

Later.

And Another One

Today I unloaded the blue Waltworks on Craigslist. I liked the bike, but the lack of rear tire clearance was a deal breaker. I substituted a bunch of crap parts and put it out there for a good price.

The buyer only wanted the frame, fork and cranks, which was fine with me. I didn't want to give up the wheels and new tires anyway.

Man, the garage is getting thin.

Later.

Twilight

I went out for a nice single speed ride yesterday after work. It's a huge pain to load everything up in the morning, store my bike in a locker at work, put it back on the car after work, drive to my destination, change clothes, gear up and ride. I always dread it, at least until I am actually out riding.

I started at Folsom Bike and rode up the bike trail towards Beal's Point where I hit the dirt.

I rode out to Granite Bay and did two loops around the area. I was surprised how damp and grippy the soil was considering we haven't had any rain in a month.

On the way back I had to hit the lights.

I rode for about a half hour in the dark. Normally I ride with two lights, but I was being lazy, so I just used one on the bars. I couldn't see a thing in turns. Next time I will also put a light on my helmet.

Last time I rode single speed I was on my orange Waltworks. After not riding the bike for a while, and getting used to the Canfield's upright position, I really didn't like the low handlebar height. I am 47 years old and I have been in a hunched over "racing position" for 30 years. I don't want to do it anymore. Enter the blue Waltworks.

The frame originally started life as a geared bike in 2006. In 2009 I hade a local guy convert it to a single speed by installing an eccentric bottom bracket. I always meant to get it repainted and built up, but never did. It hung in the garage for over five years.

The fork is 40mm longer than the orange bike's. The increased fork height combined with the riser bars made for a much more comfortable position.

I had a Bushnell EBB once, which is an expanding wedge unit, and it was horrible. It creaked, clicked and slipped. You had to grease the hell out of it, and re-grease it frequently.

I went with a pinch bolt unit this time, and it works great. This is the quietest bike I have ever ridden. It was almost too quiet in the dark woods; I could hear lots of creatures scurrying about as I passed though the darkness.

One thing I never considered was how the EBB would affect my rear tire clearance. The original frame's bottom bracket, which was cut out and discarded, was 73mm. While the aluminum EBB insert is a standard 68mm, the actual steel part of the frame is only 60mm, so I lost 13mm in width. That's a lot of tire clearance to lose. Added to that, the increased diameter of the bottom bracket requires the chainstays to be shortened and squeezed together even more.

When I moved the wheels from the orange bike to the blue one, the nubs on the rear tire were hitting the chainstays, and the knobs were far too close for comfort.

A few weeks ago I bought a WTB Nine Line tire for another bike. After mounting it up, I immediately took it back off. It was ridiculously narrow for a 2.25 inch tire.

It measures a whopping 2.044 inches. Stupid. It should be labeled as a 2.0 for sure.

However, its narrow profile made it the perfect candidate for the rear end of this bike.

Being narrow and having low, closely spaced knobs, it wasn't the greatest tire for climbing out of the saddle. It slipped a lot. If I keep this bike, I will have to find something better.

This is an old bike with old geometry, and it rides like it. Nobody uses a 72 degree head angle anymore. It was a handful on high speed descents, especially in the dark. I can't help but wonder if selling both Waltworks single speeds and getting something newer would be the way to go.

Later.

SS

I decided to go for a ride after work last night. The night before, looking down the row of bikes on the wall, I decided to go with the single speed. The bike hadn't seen the light of day in a long, long time. I guess I have had other interests for the past few years. After pumping up the tires and lubing the chain, it was ready to go. That's the beauty of a rigid single speed.

Out on the trail the bike was exceptionally quick. Walt built the frameset eight years ago, and 29er geometry has changed a lot since then (for the better). The 72-degree head angle so popular back then is unheard of now, as is the short 430 millimeter fork length. As you can see, the rider position is definitely "racy," and so is the handling.

Up the first climb I stayed in the saddle and totally ripped it. I thought, "Hey, I'm in pretty good shape!" After a fun little descent was another longer climb that I labored up just a bit. "Maybe not that great," I thought. After the third climb I only had this thought: single speeds suck.

In the end I did enjoy my ride, but I am not sure this is the bike for me anymore. I might try a shorter stem, riser bars and a seatpost with some setback in an attempt to modernize the ride a bit. After riding the Canfield, I do prefer a more laid-back geometry now.

Our smog layer is providing some pretty sunsets:

Overall I like my Nokia Lumia phone for mobile shots. It's definitely nice not carrying a phone and a camera. Most of the time the quality is excellent. One situation where the phone falters though is whenever the sun is present in the shot. You get a lot of weird flaring. Not an issue with a real camera.

Later.

Time Out

This week Jenn and I took some time for ourselves and went to Monterey. Normally we stay at the Embassy Suites in Seaside, but this time we stayed at a place called Hotel 1110 closer to the wharf. In a word, it was "quaint." And by that I mean small, old and noisy.

After checking in with the indifferent owner, we went out for a quick 20-mile ride to the south.

It was a bit cool and breezy, but not bad.

A beach in Pacific Grove.

The sun on its way down.

After our ride we showered and had a beer (free!) in the hotel lobby/bar. There we met the wife of the grumpy owner, a delightful Lebanese woman. We later had dinner at Crab Louie's, and it was just OK.

The next day we had breakfast (free!) at the hotel. Over the course of our stay, we sampled a few new and interesting forms of runny, under-cooked eggs. After getting our daily dose of salmonella, we walked to the wharf for coffee and some window shopping.

Later in the morning we rode north to the end of the trail, a 25-mile round trip. The weather started out sunny and fairly warm.

Jenn rides away from me on a climb.

On the way back the fog rolled in and it became much colder.

Somewhere out there the ocean hides under the blanket of fog.

After our ride we walked to Cannery Row and had dinner at the Monterey Brewing Company. This was my favorite meal of the trip—good food, good beer and a fun waitress.

On day three we again walked to the wharf for our morning coffee. I took a few black and white pictures that just felt right considering the foggy morning.

In the afternoon we rode to the south towards Carmel.

 

Some guy on a bike. You can tell he is struggling to suck in his gut.

A Heermann's Gull. He really wanted some of our trail mix.

This is called Seal Rock. Not sure why.

The seals that are not lucky enough to score a spot on the rock sleep on their side in the water. Notice how one flipper sticks up in the air.

Later that night we walked to the aquarium. Since we arrived an hour before closing on a Wednesday, the place was empty. It was great. Here's a Giant Pacific Octopus, one of two on exhibit. Both of them are normally hiding whenever we go.

Reef fish:

Cuttlefish:

Morays:

After the aquarium we had dinner at the Fish Hopper. The food is expensive and the portions are small, but it's a nice dining experience.

The next morning we drank our eggs and headed out for a ride.

  

Ice plant is an invasive species originating from South Africa. The Army used it for erosion control. Although the State, County and private volunteers are actively removing the plant to restore native vegetation, it does make for picturesque scenery.

A dune free of ice plant.

The last rest stop.

After the ride, we took quick showers, checked out and hit the road.

It was only four days, but it was a much needed vacation and I am thankful we were able to spend some quality time together.

Later.